I Promise
by 2ndMass
Summary: "The good times of today, are the sad thoughts of tomorrow." One-shot, set on the road to Charleston. Rated T for violence.


_The good times of today, are the sad thoughts of tomorrow_

_- Bob Marley_

Matt stared down at the photograph in his hand. He didn't remember very many details of the event, as he was only four when it happened, and all he knew was from what his brothers had told him. Their mother had dragged the three of them and their dad to a pumpkin patch, so she could takes some pictures. Hal, naturally, had screamed and cried the whole way about ''not wanting to sit on some stupid pumpkins.'' So in the picture, he was red-faced and scowling. Ben and their dad just looked bored, and little Matt was smiling happily at the camera, and waving.

Matt blankly looked it over, emotionally unattached. It was like the picture was from a different world, a past life. It held no meaning now, those days were over and gone. They were never coming back. Matt had hoped, that maybe, someday, they would. Not completely, not even his childish optimism could hope for that, but he had figured things could get better. That the aliens would go away, and they could all move back into their house, and try and start anew. Maybe he knew, deep down inside, that the chances of that were slim to none. But it was hard to realize that, when you had your brothers beside you and your father protecting you. Promising you that things _would _get better, and that they would _never _stop fighting until every skitter and fish-head was gone from this earth. The conviction in their voices was impossible to doubt.

Impossible to doubt. He laughed once, at that thought. They had been. He had found himself in a world of hope and love. A world where the aliens would one day be gone, and families would be reunited. A world where peace and happiness would be restored, and children would live to see old age. He had been in denial of just how wrong things could go, in denial of reality, even though it danced in front of him constantly, bloody and battered. After every funeral he should have realized, that only the good die young. The dedicated, and the honored. The ones who had the most to live for, the most to fight for. But he didn't. Matt laughed again. Even now, he was in denial. Even now, when it quite literally was right in front of him, he still held on to hope. Pandora's jar, he thought, remembering the story his mother had once read to him.

"Always hold on to hope," she had said. "If you don't, you are lost."

So he stubbornly held on to it. He stubbornly prayed for some miracle, that he knew in his heart would never come to pass.

It's strange, but when you're at death's doorstep, even if it is only to watch others go through it, you still see your life flash before your eyes. Every wrong you have done, every right others have done. The emotions, regret and joy, clashing together into some toxic mixture. Poisoning you from the inside out. For those actually dying, Matt imagined that the pain of the flashback was very brief. It was gone, as soon as it came. It's not like that for those who live on, they have to carry it on their backs forever, unless they find the will to let it go. But that's hard, so hard. Survivors are unwilling to let go, even though by holding on it's killing them. They feel they _have_ to, or they will lose everything. And Matt was no different.

He loved his family. So much. They were the ones who picked him up when he stumbled, they were the ones who taught him the most important lessons in life. Lessons that until the end of his days, he would never forget. He was proud of his family, and all that they had accomplished. It was his dream to be like them someday. Ben, who used to be just a shy, awkward fifteen year old boy, had become a fighter. Some may argue that it was because of the harness, but Matt knew differently. He knew that Ben could easily have just killed himself, taken the easy way out. Or hide behind others and let them protect him. But he didn't. He had started standing up for himself, and had taken up arms. He had faced what was his greatest fear, the skitters. He had, through determination, finally found a way to be of use, despite the spikes that would be forever on his back. Matt knew how hard that must have been.

He was proud of his father as well. He was just a college history professor, thrown into a world of war and panic, and of slaughter and monsters. But he stepped up, and took his role as second in command of the 2nd Mass. And he managed to not only do that, but also take care of his children. To continue to be a father, even though they were in the midst of an apocalypse. And for this, he would forever be grateful.

And then there was Hal. His bossy, high school jock of a brother. Always bringing some new girl home with him, just barely clinging to As, so that he could play lacrosse. Never doing his chores, always teasing him and Ben. He had changed from that, into a protector, and almost a second father. It wasn't like he wasn't a good brother before, he would always defend Ben and Matt from bullies, and play with them on occasion, but his change was still dramatic. It must have been so hard to shake off his teenage attitude and step into the mind of an adult. But he did it, and Matt would never forget.

He didn't feel that he had stepped up much at all. He had learned to shoot a gun, but that just made Hal get angry with Ben. He had tried to go and save some kids from getting harnessed, but all that resulted in was him nearly getting harnessed himself, and his family's pain and worry. But regardless of his failures, they loved him anyway.

He remembered the night, just a week ago, when Ben had promised to fight for him. Matt had been sitting by a window, in an abandoned hotel. He had just lost one of his friends to the skitters. Ben entered the room, and set his gun down on the bed. Matt had barely noticed him enter. That's when he walked up to him and kneeled beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Matt had wiped the tears from his eyes quickly, and glanced back at him. Ben didn't say anything at first, just pulled him into a hug, resting his head on top of his. Matt grasped the back of his shirt with his fists, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall.

"It's okay to cry," he said. Matt shook his head in response.

Ben pulled back and put both of his hands on his shoulders, waiting until he looked up slowly to continue.

"Look... Life sucks. I know. And it's alright to acknowledge that. We all have, and we all will, as long as this world continues to burn. But I will promise you something. Until the day the I die, I will fight for you. I will make sure what has happened to me, will _never _happen to you. And I will do whatever is in my power to get your friend safely returned to you. Alright?"

Matt nodded once, and buried his face in his shoulder, knowing that he would never break that promise.

He remembered the night, just two days ago, when his father had promised to be there for him. They were on the move again, the whole 2nd Mass had loaded their few belongings into trucks, and were driving up north. Matt was pacing back and forth in the med bus, where his father and him were staying. It was no secret to anyone, despite how hard they tried to conceal it, that Dr. Glass and his father were in love. This shouldn't have bothered him. It should have made him happy. But every time he looked at her, especially her and his father together, he felt a pain in his chest. He felt the memories of his mother rise up to the surface of his mind. The memories of her singing him to sleep at night, driving him to his first day of school, baking his favorite dessert, and taking him and his brothers to pumpkin patches. They were painful, empty memories of yesterday.

His father had walked up to him and ruffled his hair, smiling down on him proudly, just like he did with his brothers.

"Hey Matt. How's it going?" he said. Matt smiled at him slightly, and shrugged.

His father looked at his face for a moment, then asked, "Is something bothering you...?"

"No..." Matt answered. "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing."

His father sighed and leaned against the wall of the bus. "I understand, we all have a lot of things to think about lately." He thought for a moment. "How would you like to help me with organizing the medicine? Weaver said we'd be on the move for a while, so Anne said it would be best to get things neatened up."

Matt shrugged again. "Sure."

His dad talked as they worked, mostly about the medicine supplies, and about how Dr. Glass would need some more stuff soon. Matt noticed how his face softened as he talked about her, and how his eyes brightened.

"What about Mom?" He finally asked.

His dad was visibly shocked, not expecting the question at all. It was an unspoken agreement of sorts, to try and live in now instead of then. Granted, they slipped up regularly, but the times when they did were never mentioned again.

But his father knew why he asked that. "I love your mother. I always have and always will... But you can't mourn forever. The pain, the anger, the sadness... it will eat you alive. You have to learn to grit your teeth and move on."

"But you can't just forget about her!" Matt argued, not bothering to conceal his emotions.

"No. Never forget." His father hugged him tightly. "Never forget... But live. Continue to live and grow, and never get dragged down by the pain. That's our job, as the survivors, to live on as best as we can. If we let ourselves be overcome, we may as well have not survived at all."

And that's when the two of them, father and son, bowed their heads and cried. Clinging onto each other, they poured out some the pain that came with the memories. So that they may move on, and look back at the memories in happiness, not misery. Then his father took a deep breath and looked up.

"I promise that I will be there for you Matt, until the day I die. When you need to let go, and need help to move on. I promise."

And Matt knew his father would never break his promise either.

Lastly, he remembered the night, just twenty minutes ago, when his brother had promised to die for him. It wasn't a spoken promise. It was hands, reaching out and pushing him away. It was a step, taken to get in front of him. It was a knife, stabbed through the heart. It was blood, pouring out onto the alleyway. It was a soul, that sacrificed its body for a nine year old boy. Hal had always been strong. He was a born leader, a fighter. Matt had always known how fiercely protective he was of his family, and it was a quality that Matt admired. And a quality that lead to his death, just a day before he could turn eighteen. Forever a child. But it was hard thinking of him that way, as a child. It was just so... wrong. He was so much older, so much stronger. Not like Matt, who was weak.

"Strength is defined by the will to go on, and the willingness to do what it takes to make things right." Hal had said one night. "It's not physical, or mental. It's all in the heart."

Did Matt have this? Did he have determination and fight in him, like Ben? Did he have loyalty and love like his father? Did he have strength and courage like Hal?

He looked at the scene around him. The bloodied walls of the old, broken city. The bodies of his people, the 2nd Mass. The bodies of his brothers, Hal and Ben. The body of his father. The eerie, echoing silence was all that was left from the alien attack. Except for him.

"I promise to fight for you."

"I promise to be there for you."

"I promise to die for you."

Matt felt the tears fall from his eyes, and he sank to his knees. He cried and cried, desperately trying to get rid of the pain, like his father had told him. But he still felt the pain, the emptiness, the loneliness. Anger tore through him, and he screamed up at the sky.

"You're gone! You're all gone, and you expect me to live?! To go on?! I'm not like you! I have no one to fight for! No one to be there for, or die for! Everyone's gone! Why didn't they find me too...?!"

He stopped yelling, breathing in deep, ragged breaths, as the tears continued to stream from his eyes. As they forever would until the world stopped burning.

His thoughts swirled in pain and confusion. Nine years old. He was nine years old, and his family had been cruelly ripped away from him, cursing him to surviving on his own. What had he done? What had _anyone_ done, to deserve everything being taken away from them? Unable to think of an answer, his mind started repeating names, as though by doing that it would somehow bring them back.

_Ben, Hal, Mom, Dad_

_Ben, Hal, Mom, Dad_

_Ben, Hal, Mom, Dad_

_Ben, Hal, Mom, Dad_

Matt gripped his chest tightly and started muttering the names underneath his breath, hoping that God would grant him some mercy and bring back his family. He needed them more then ever. How could he survive out here? Without his brothers, and his parents to guide him and protect him... He was lost. As good as dead. Why had he hidden? Why didn't he let the mechs blow him up too?

Matt turned his head and eyed his brother's pistol. Shakily, he reached out and grabbed it, checking and seeing that there was one bullet left. One beautiful piece of mercy. It would be easy, all too easy, to pull the trigger. He pressed the gun up against his head, and gently laid one finger against the trigger. All too easy.

His thoughts flashed back to his family. To Ben, who fought on despite all the terrible things that had happened. To his dad, who found the will to go on, even though the woman he loved had been slaughtered in his place. To Hal, who had been loving and brave enough to take the knife for his little brother, so that he may live.

Then, after a few more minutes of empty despair, he stood up. He dropped the pistol to the ground, and remembered.

You weren't supposed to get rid of the pain, you were supposed to not let yourself be overcome by it.

Was he really, after everything his family taught him, going to commit suicide? Was he going to give up, when Ben had carried on? Was he going to be overcome, when his father had fought so hard to not let himself be dragged down? Was he going to die, after Hal had sacrificed his life for him? No. He couldn't. He knew what he had to do.

Matt looked once more at the bodies of his family and friends. Dr. Glass, a bullet wound in her head, on the ground next to a wall. Captain Weaver, his body bloody and broken on the ground. Anthony, Dai, Lourdes, and all the un-named soldiers and civilians of the 2nd Mass. Gone but never forgotten, each one having touched his life in a different way. Then his family. Hal, lying on his back, a deep hole in his chest. His eyes, once so filled with life and love, staring unseeingly up at the sky. Ben, his throat torn, lay crumpled in a heap just a few yards away. Then his father. The one who loved his family more then anything else in the world, lay on the ground, the blood that had been running from his head now spilled over the road, his eyes closed. And that's when he knew it was his turn to make a promise.

"I promise to live."

He said this loud and clear, despite the fact that no one could hear him. It was a promise to everyone, but especially his family. The ones he owed and loved the most. He dragged his brothers bodies over to where his father lay, and ran to the toppled over med bus, taking sheets out of them and wrapping up their cold, still bodies. He then took Ben's knife, putting it in his back pocket. He took up his fathers gun, and looked again at Hal's photograph, before folding it neatly in half and putting it in his jacket pocket. Those days, the days of the photograph, may never come back. But that didn't mean he couldn't hold on to them. Look back and remember how things were.

And that's when Matt Mason walked away. He walked away to fill the empty void that his people had left behind. He walked away to finish what his family had started.


End file.
